Sleepy
by kenkae
Summary: Greg's not getting much of sleep. Angstypangsty. Spoilers for Fannysmackin' and Post Mortem. R
1. Cry

Greg was crying.

He lay curled up in fetal position in his over-sized pajama pants and a decade old band-shirt. The only thing suggesting he was still alive was the salty water dropping from his chocolate eyes.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted it so badly. He would've liked nothing more than to close his eyes and fly to dreamland, but every time he actually fell asleep he would have disturbing dreams, not even knowing what they were about when he finally woke up. There were faces and accusations, but nothing was real. Afterwards he would feel anxious the whole day.

The cold floor of his apartment started to feel oddly comfortable. He didn't know how long he had been laying there. In the distance he could hear his alarm clock go off.

Greg got up.

He dragged himself to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror.

"Fuck."

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, knowing it wouldn't do any good. His whole face was somehow sunken and pale, as opposite to the swollen and blue one he had had for a few months ago. He reached out to turn the shower on.

The steaming water hit first with a pressure against Greg's back, but soon enough he got used to it. His knees gave away and he slid down the ocean-green wall to the shower floor. There he sat, as one sits under the shower, naked. He watched how the water ran down from his shoulders, following his skin's hair all the way down to the floor. He tugged his feet and hands tightly to his torso and looked like misery itself.

Greg wanted to have a cigarette.

A good half an hour later Greg found himself pulling a pair of old jeans and a black t-shirt on him. Though it was hot outside, Greg was shivering and he had to put on a nice warm hoodie too. Then he threw his bag over his shoulder, showed his keys and phone in it. Making sure he had coins for the bus trip to work, he left the apartment.

Greg didn't dare to drive.


	2. Laugh

**Kate McT: Thanks for reviewing:) I'm goin' to continue with this one for a while, I'll see what ppl think of it. And we'll see what happens at work to Greg**

**So, I didn't put any kind of warnings etc in the beginning of the first chapter, wanted just to post that bit without really thinking any further. But anyhow, beware the language, violence, maybe along the way some implied bi-ish thingies (to be on the safe side).**

**As everyone knows, I own nothing besides possible characters coming a little later on along. Don't know yet about that rating T, tell me if I should lift or lower it.**

**Read and pretty, pretty please, review:) **

* * *

Greg was laughing. 

Nick had just said something awfully funny. Greg didn't know what it was, but since everyone else had suddenly started laughing with the Texan, Greg did too.

The most of the night-shift were in the break-room. Catherine was processing a scene at some hotel downtown and Grissom was in the A/V lab with Archie. It was the slowest night Greg could remember. Not even the night when he had wasted all of his time to find a better hide place for his coffee was as slow as this one. But then again, that was ages ago. That was when he still worked _in_ the lab. That was probably even before the explo---

"Greg?"

Greg opened his eyes. Had he been sleeping?

"Are you coming?"

Greg blinked a few times, then got up from the couch he'd been sitting on. The break-room was almost empty now, nearly everyone had gone off doing…something.

"Sure Nick. Sorry, I must've dozed off. Where are we going?"

"To help Catherine, she called to tell her vic has company", Nick replied. "Are you ok? You look kinda… terrible."

"Oh yeah? Nah, didn't really get any sleep last night, that's all." Greg rubbed his eyes again. "Should be fine, lets go."

---

Almost four hours later Nick and Greg were back at the lab. Nick was standing by a work table, examining their victim's clothes, while the younger CSI was going through the photos they had taken at the scene – or more likely, he was trying to. Once in a while Greg would forget what he was doing and he would just stare empty at the pictures on the table. Nick commented now and then on his own findings, and when he caught Greg in his oblivion, the older man would wake him back to the reality. When this happened for the fifth time, Nick frowned in concern.

"Greg?" he called. Greg brought his eyes to the same level with Nick's. "Greg, what's wrong?"

"Wha- what do you mean?" Greg asked, with a hint of panic in his voice. Was he doing it again? Was he nodding off again? He couldn't really remember.

"You're clearly disoriented. Man, you look like a fucking zombie!" Nick said irritated. He was really eager to solve the case, since their victim was just a child and children always caught the CSIs' attention, but Greg wasn't too helpful.

"No, I'm fine, I told you already", Greg snapped back. Nick rubbed his temples in the same way tired mothers do when their child is whining about stupid things in the evening. He then sighed loudly and told Greg to go home. "Or else I'll tell Grissom to take you off the case", he said coldly.

"Fine."

Greg's answer was even colder. Greg didn't know why he acted that way. He wanted to work. He didn't want to go home.

Greg left without any kind of drama. He walked softly to the locker room, he took his bag and jacket, and then he left quietly closing the door behind him. He had enough money for an almost comfortable taxi ride home.

* * *

**So? I'd like to know whether it's worth continuing or not. Short chapters for now, minimalism is so fun! Reviews, please:)**


	3. Giggle

**This chapter turned out to be a little more...sweet, than I had intented it to be. Hopefully it'll serve its purpose though, meaning Greg isn't a complete loss - yet. R&R, please:)**

* * *

Greg was giggling.

Very quietly, just so he could hear it, no-one else.

His left arm was resting on the bar counter and the right one was just picking up the bottle in front of him. The song playing a bit too loud in the background was one of Greg's favorites. He couldn't remember its name, but it definitely was a favorite. He was pretty sure it had been playing in the radio when he had been driving past that alley with those Fannysmackers. He couldn't be sure, though, it was a few months ago now.

"Wanna have another one of those, G?" Greg awoke from his giggle-state and looked up at the bartender in front of him.

"No Sam, I think it's time for a White Russian now", Greg replied and drank the last drops of his beer. Sam nodded and started mixing the drink.

_Sam's a good guy, _Greg spluttered in his mind. Greg had come to the bar straight from work. Straight after Nick had kicked him out. Greg was still tired, but the alcohol always gave him a boost. He needed a boost. He didn't want to go home, anyway.

Greg couldn't remember how long he'd been in the bar.

Still waiting for his beverage, Greg spun a few times around with his stool. He stopped with his back to Sam, taking a glance around the bar. It was packed of course, since it was a Friday night. Greg leaned with his elbows against the counter and arched his back so he saw Sam upside down.

"Ready soon?"

Sam chuckled and said something Greg couldn't really understand. He was about to spin back to his start position when he noticed a girl in the other end of the counter. She was drinking a White Russian. It was probably the first time ever he saw someone else drinking one.

Greg leaned a bit forward on the counter to get a better look at the girl. She was apparently alone, staring empty at the mirror-wall with the drinks behind the bar counter. She had red curly hair, gathered on a loose chignon on her head, and around her neck she wore a Palestinian scarf.

Suddenly she glanced at her left, noticing Greg looking at her. Both of them quickly turned away their gazes, only to again connect their eyes a second later.

She smiled.

To Greg it was the sweetest smile ever.

"Here's-- Greg, what are you looking at?" Sam asked with Greg's drink in his hand. Greg tore his gaze of the girl and looked at Sam.

"Oh, thanks", he said taking the drink of the bartenders hand. Sam looked in the girl's direction.

"Hah, you tiger."

"Oh c'mon, Sam."

Sam grinned at the younger man. Greg took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. After a few deep inhales of the menthol-flavored smoke he looked again at the girl. She was almost finished with her drink.

"Sam, give her a Whitey, will you?" Greg asked giving Sam a bill. A few minutes later Greg saw the bartender giving the girl the drink, pointing at Greg, and Greg could see Sam's mouth saying 'he's buying'. The girl said something back to Sam and smiled at Greg.

"She thanks you. She tells you to go over there. You little bastard," Sam teased. Greg put his cigarette pack in his pocket, threw his bag over his shoulder and shook off the ashes from his lit cigarette.

"Better I go over there then, right?" Greg made his short way through the crowded bar to the lonesome girl.

"Greg," Greg said offering his hand once there. The girl shook it lightly, "Sade."

"Sade? Well, that's a nice name you have," Greg said sitting down beside her.

---

Greg woke up with a jolt from the weirdest dreams: he could remember a Kangaroo with Grissom's head in its pouch chasing after Greg, and a pile of bodies at the morgue, all which had Nick's face. They were singing Happy Birthday to Greg.

It took a few seconds for Greg to realize his surroundings. It was his apartment, sure enough. He sat up, rubbing his temples – he had the worst headache. Maybe the last three drinks weren't the greatest of ideas. He then looked down beside him, and saw a head of red locks sticking out from under the blanket. Greg smiled a little. He couldn't really recall what had taken place between 3 and 5 a.m., but it must've been something nice.

Greg got quietly up and pulled a pair of boxers and the pajama pants on him. He quietly opened the bedroom door, stumbling his way through the clothes on the floor, obviously thrown there in a hurry. He got to the kitchen and put the coffee machine on. He leaned with his hands to the kitchen counter and got again lost in to his thoughts. It was almost that he didn't notice the soft footsteps behind him, but the loud yawn awoke him.

"Good morning", Greg said turning around to face Sade. She was wearing one of Greg's over-sized band-shirts that she had found on the floor.

"Well, good morning to you, too", she said with her British accent, which had more than thrilled Greg last night. He leaned down to give her a little kiss on her mouth, which turned out to be much more than 'a little'.

When they finally broke up from the kiss, the machine behind Greg started to make a buzzing noise and a vivid scent of Blue Hawaiian had sneakily filled the room.

"Coffee?"


End file.
